Certain instincts had to be developed, if a person wanted to both stay alive in a world of conflict and occasional assassinations, and to stay sane. Keep piece of mind, without getting shot, as it were. Change was one of the big factors; as long as everything stayed the same, kept moving the way it was moving, circumstances were relatively stable. Low risk.
So Mystique didn't really notice the man in the distance, beyond marking his existence, until he stopped. Long enough that he wasn't just looking at a tree or a squirrel in the darkness, long enough that it meant something. Once she'd noticed him, it didn't take long to realize who he was; Logan was as steadfast as Mystique was changeable, opposites in more ways than one. And he'd stopped, was waiting.
For her. So much for a peaceful jog.
Silent except for the rhythmic, soft sound of rubber hitting pavement, Mystique slowed and headed towards him, coming to a stop a few feet away with her hands on her hips. Youngish form, non-threatening, slightly out of breath and making clouds in the cooling air. "I didn't expect to see you up here," she commented, cocking her head slightly.